


Honest Money

by Janice_Lester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fantasy, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-26 19:54:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janice_Lester/pseuds/Janice_Lester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean discuss sex work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honest Money

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a postage stamp for my first 2012 [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) card, to hit the kinks "oral fixation", "leather latex rubber", "prostitution/sex work" [as my wild card], and "exposure/exhibitionism". Sam does not necessarily have an accurate concept of the realities of prostitution.

“Come on, Sam, it’s good honest money.”

Sam eyes the sheaf of bills being thrust in his face. “That depends on your definition.”

“Hey, I hustled those guys fair and square. Not my fault they suck at pool.”

Sam resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Fine. You’re a perfect picture of earthly morality.” At least it strikes him as slightly more acceptable, ethically, than scamming credit card companies who then recoup their losses by charging all their legit customers more. Still, there _are_ other things they could be doing to make a living. They aren’t _always_ urgently needed on another job in another state. They could make more of an effort to pick up odd jobs along the way, handyman stuff, temp work, helping out at the local auto shop, whatever.

 _Getting our cocks sucked_ , Sam thinks suddenly. It’s surprising to find that, on revisiting, that idea has attained a certain appeal.

“You ever think about prostitution?” he asks Dean, who has settled down on the opposite bed to fondle his money.

“I don’t pay for it. Chicks could pay _me_ for it, though, I guess. Well, if they were hot chicks. Guess I’d settle for hot _ish_.” He turns his head Sam’s way. “Why, you know some frisky cougar type looking for a little no-strings action between serious boy toys?”

“I don’t think that’s where the target market is, Dean.” He thinks of Tommy, a kid they’d helped out a while back. A rentboy whose regular client had died a violent death and then continued to follow Tommy around until the Winchesters rolled into town to salt and burn. Sam had enjoyed quite an eye-opening chat with Tommy the next morning, while Dean was off hunting the state’s best banana pancakes or something.

“I don’t do dudes, either. This ass is priceless.”

“I have it on good authority that lots of guys who pay for sex with men just really, really want to give head. They wanna jerk off with their mouths full of genuine big warm fragrant manly dick. Everything else they can get from their wives.”

“Good authority, huh?” Dean starts, and then this thoughtful look comes over him. “I could get _paid_ to get head?”

For just a moment, Sam’s convinced that they’re both sharing pretty much the same, probably unwise, fantasy. So he forces a laugh. “Hey, man, what would you _wear_?”

“To attract dudes?” Dean frowns. “My leather jacket _is_ pretty awesome, and it’s _leather_.”

“And it used to be Dad’s.”

“Point.” He thinks. “I could totally rock leather pants. Mick Jagger ain’t got nothing on me.” A beat, and then Dean points at him accusingly. “Even in his heyday.”

“Leather _is_ kinda sexy,” Sam admits. He finds himself thinking of Jess in this really fitted, cropped, pale blue leather jacket she’d worn on special occasions, how it had emphasised her narrow waist and generous breasts. She’d seemed annoyed when random guys stared, but okay about _his_ gaze dropping to her chest all the time. He’d loved tracing her curves through that soft leather, had even asked her to wear it to bed once. Not everyone had been so fond of it; he remembered that Jess’s freshman roommate had been known to lecture her about it. “Though I guess you risk alienating the animal-rights, vegetarian crowd.”

“I can live with that,” Dean insists. “That’s, what, like one percent of my target demographic? Wait a minute. Aren’t all hookers supposed to wear tiny little outfits and mesh and crap? It’s winter. Mesh is not on the menu.”

Sam faux pouts. “Oh, Dean, but your nipples are your best features!”

“Hardly,” Dean says, but he sounds complimented all the same. Sam can almost see him swaggering around, all cocky confidence, nearly-bare chest on display to the whole world of potential customers. “Guys really pay to suck dick?”

Sam laughs, and Dean throws a pillow at him.

Officially, they drop the subject, but Sam’s mind doesn’t give up the idea in a hurry. He keeps imagining himself leaning up against a dank alley wall somewhere, pants shoved down to reveal his cock, hard and eager in the chill night air, waiting while the random older guy in a suit dealt with his brief second thoughts. But you don’t pay someone in advance and then not at least sample the goods right?

It’s hard to be certain without ever having been in that situation, or anything like it, but Sam’s pretty sure his imagination is powerful enough to get him through any misgivings he might have at his customer being someone he isn’t attracted to. And a man. Actually, he’s less bothered by the man part than he would have expected to be. It’s even a little exciting, the thought that someone who considers himself straight, who lives a straight life with wife and kids and who knows what—like those staid upstanding politicians who make the papers every so often after soliciting an undercover cop in a men’s room somewhere—that a guy like that would find _Sam Winchester_ attractive enough to risk his self-image for. Well, okay, so he’s sure it’s a lot more complex than that and someone’s choice to pay for sex probably has a lot less to do with the attractiveness of a particular purveyor of sex and a lot more to do with a fateful combination of mood and opportunity, but, hey, nothing wrong with dreaming, right? And in his dreams he is _quite_ the strutting streetwalker, drawing all eyes, charming everyone he speaks with. Wearing clothes that actually _fit_ and aren’t chosen merely because they’re the cheapest things on the rack and Sam’s line of work is hell on clothes.

He imagines a stranger’s mouth stretched around his dick, warm and wet and _desperate_. And then another stranger, another mouth, and another, and another, mouth after mouth after sweet, sucking mouth, until Sam can’t even see a random guy smile in a diner or a gas station and not feel his dick twitch like a mouth-seeking missile. Can you get addicted to other people’s mouths? Can you need mouth the way all these guys supposedly need dick?

“Sammy?” Dean asks, just as Sam is dozing off. “Are you _sure_ —”

“Yes, Dean.” He smothers a yawn. “I’m sure there are guys out there who would pay for the privilege of sucking you off. Now let me crash, would you?”

“Well,” Dean muses, apparently to himself, “my dick _is_ thirty-one flavours of awesome…”

 

***END***


End file.
